


only hard work and sweat

by youcouldmakealife



Series: between the teeth [20]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4779029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David had expected to outpace Volkov at everything, but he doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only hard work and sweat

David had expected to outpace Volkov at everything, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even outpace Volkov at most things, and he can’t blame longer legs, since Volkov’s only got an inch on him, or weight, since Volkov maybe has ten pounds.

He follows Vladislav out on the third day. “He’s doing better than me,” David says.

“He’s in good shape,” Vladislav says. 

“Kurmazov didn’t,” David says.

“Oleg’s in his thirties,” Vladislav says, giving David a knowing look, because he’d heard Kurmazov tell David to refer to him by his first name. “The body is not quite the same.”

“I don’t get it,” David says, frustrated, “if he’s as good as me, why’s he fourth line?”

Vladislav looks at him. David thinks it’s supposed to tell him something, but he doesn’t know what.

“He could work out every minute of his life and never be as good as you,” Vladislav says, finally, then, frowning at whatever he must see on David’s face, “does that surprise you?”

“He works hard,” David says.

“Yes,” Vladislav says. “Do you think it’s all hard work?”

“Obviously,” David says.

Vladislav frowns even deeper. “David,” he says, “you could never work a moment, and you would still be better than many in the league.”

“I _do_ work,” David says.

“I know you do,” Vladislav says. “But you have to know you’re talented.”

“He works as hard as me,” David says, finally.

“And he will never be half as good as you,” Vladislav says. “He knows that. I know that. I’m surprised you don’t.”

David knows he has talent. He’s been told that enough by his agent, his old coach, the media, Hockey Canada, the president of the Islanders when they drafted him. He just works really hard, and everyone says hockey’s mostly hard work, and then talent sets in. Volkov works as hard as him, harder, even, and he isn’t even close to as good, once they get on the ice. David had maybe been assuming no one else bothered to try. 

It had driven him crazy, when Jake had shown up late, hadn’t seemed to put in an effort, the idea that Jake could do that and still somehow beat him for the Calder. He wonders, now, if others look at him, resentful, if others try harder than him, and still can’t get where he is, and hate him for it. It’s discomfiting.

The next day David goes in, intent on being better, being the best. He can strain himself for it - Vladislav schedules ten breaks a month, never two days straight, by a logic that David honestly can’t figure out. It feels like a lot, a day to every two, and at his most bored and resentful, David wondered if Vladislav was trying to cash a cheque for less work. But in the end, it’s saved him a lot of muscle soreness, even though he still hasn’t figured out the schedule, no three days on, one off, or two and a half breaks a week, just whenever Vladislav deems it necessary.

There’s a day off following today, so David thinks he can push himself a little, but one of the first things they do is go swimming, like Vladislav’s specifically trying to sabotage him. David’s never been a great swimmer, and he doesn’t like it much, either, but he goes in intent, and stays that way, even when Volkov laps him the first time.

Thankfully he does a little better for the rest of the day, but it’s fitness, not drills, which David knows he’d do better at, and Volkov keeps pace with him when he isn’t beating him. At the end of the day Volkov looks kind of exhausted, at least, which is heartening, because the way he brushed off the first day of training like it was easy had David worried that he was desperately out of shape somehow. 

“Tonight we drink,” he tells David, when they’re doing a final cool down. “Better have a place.”, and David’s thankful he texted Kurmazov just so he’s not playing tour guide to the city with either a Islanders spot or a dive bar, since that’s really all he knows. He knows all the good healthy restaurants, it’s not like he doesn’t know New York at all, it’s just not his area of expertise, nor one he really wants to become one. 

He takes him to one of the places Kurmazov suggested, a good one, some pricey gastro-pub that had a good menu, when he glanced at it online, and like fifty types of beer on tap. It’s low lit and fancy, on the inside, adult in a way that the places he usually goes to aren’t, which is confirmed when he gets ID’d when they order. He scowls at Volkov for not getting ID’d, even though he’s twenty-five and looks his age.

“It is the baby face,” Volkov says sagely.

“I don’t have a baby face,” David says, scowling deeper.

“I would pinch your cheek if I did not think you would punch me,” Volkov says.

“I would,” David says, and Volkov laughs.

“I know,” he says. 

“You’ve been doing really good,” David says, when they receive their pints.

“You sound surprised,” Volkov says. “You thought you would kick my ass?”

“Kind of,” David admits.

“You have shitty form in the water,” Volkov says, and David would take offense, but he knows he’s not a good swimmer, and Volkov undeniably is. It would make sense if it was bad form, not just bad in general. You can’t excel at anything with bad form. He’s sure Volkov knows what he’s talking about. Still.

“I do hockey, not swimming,” David mumbles, embarrassed. 

Volkov just laughs. “No one said you are bad at hockey,” he says, then, “Okay. Quick. Ten questions. I ask, you answer as fast as you can.”

David wrinkles his nose. “This sounds like something from training camp,” he says. That, or the questions Jake had posed to him through text, from the asinine to the embarrassing. 

Volkov shrugs a shoulder. “We are a team this summer,” he says. “Unless you see it as competition.”

David does, to some extent, but Volkov’s right — he does better with someone else pushing him to do better, and that makes them a team of sorts.

“Okay,” David says. “Nothing personal, though.” He doesn’t exactly want to answer ‘first kiss’ again. 

Volkov rolls his eyes. “Favourite player,” he says.

“Konstantinovich,” David says.

“Favourite _current_ player,” Volkov says.

David thinks. “Kurmazov,” he says.

“Are you trying to win points with Russia?” Volkov asks, grinning, and David colours. “You can’t pick team. Or me.”

David rolls his eyes right back at him, then thinks. “Olsen’s really good,” he says finally.

“Of course you are a Senators fan,” Volkov laughs.

“What about you?” David asks.

“Lapointe,” Volkov says.

“But he’s — ” David starts, then stops, because he’d sound like Benson, and assuming Volkov wouldn’t like Lapointe just because he’s — that way — is kind of rude.

Volkov watches him with a raised eyebrow, then, when it becomes clear David’s not planning on finishing his sentence, “I was going to ask your favourite player as a boy, but you ruined it.”

“Sorry,” David says. “You?”

“Konstantinovich,” Volkov says, his grin returning, and David can’t help but smile back.

“Favourite colour,” Volkov says.

David frowns and thinks about it. “Blue,” he says. “I guess.”

“You had to think,” Volkov says, disbelieving sounding.

David shrugs.

“Not orange too?” Volkov asks.

“No one likes orange,” David says, still frowning.

“Bad Islander,” Volkov says.

“Then you’re going to say yellow or black?” David says, and belatedly, “black is a shade.”

“Orange,” Volkov says.

“You’re just saying that to be contrary,” David says.

Volkov shrugs, loose. “Maybe,” he says. “Maybe no. Favourite movie.”

David goes with the stock one, and Volkov adds the stupid rule that Jake did, that hockey movies aren’t allowed, which he didn’t say in the first place, and David’s afraid he’s going to ask about all his favourites, like David’s supposed to just have them in a list in his head, but they get interrupted by the waiter bringing their food and taking their orders for another pint, and it gets dropped.

“Okay, last question,” Volkov says, when they’ve gotten through their food and the compliments towards it, because it’s really good. David shouldn’t have doubted a recommendation from Kurmazov.

It hasn’t been ten questions, but David isn’t exactly going to be pointing that out — he’s perfectly happy for the questioning to end, even though, thus far, it’s been innocent enough, the sort of questions he knows the answers to, or at least could take a stab at, and nothing mortifying. It seems like Volkov’s going easy on him. David isn’t complaining. 

“Girlfriend?” Volkov asks, and David shakes his head. That question he’s more than used to from the media. “Boyfriend?” he asks, and David snaps his head up.

“No,” he says, sharp, then, because this is his part, “You?”

He doesn’t even know what he’d do if Volkov says he had one, like, how he should react, how he’s supposed to react, but of course he doesn’t, because he’s a hockey player, and it’s fucking stupid to be a hockey player and have a boyfriend.

“Girlfriend,” Volkov says. 

“Cool,” David says, a little woodenly, focusing on his meal again. He wonders if Vladislav said something, like Kurmazov said something to him, and Vladislav said something to Volkov, or — maybe he just looks it. He didn’t think he did, but maybe he does. Maybe everyone can tell, just looking at him, that he isn’t the kind of person who would have a girlfriend. It’s not something he can outright ask Volkov, though, it’d basically be admitting something.

“Were you there when they won the Cup?” he asks, mostly just to break the silence, just make things seem less awkward, and Volkov hadn’t been, was down with Wilkes-Barre at the time, but he has plenty of stories from teammates about after, some of which are legitimately funny, the kind of things David can picture Islanders doing, if they had even a chance of winning, and that takes them through dinner and one last pint, after which David’s trying to hide a yawn into his beer.

“Hard to compete with me, I know,” Volkov says, punctuating it with a wink. 

“Maybe you’re just boring,” David says, then immediately feels pleased with himself for coming up with it.

Volkov puts a hand to his chest. “You hurt me,” he says, but not in a serious way. Like he’s joking with David, and he knows David’s in on the joke.

David pays, because it’s polite as a host, and because, even though he’s still on an ELC, he had some good bonuses on it, and he’s about to be making a lot more, way more than Volkov does. He doesn’t say that part out loud, though, he knows it’s rude to talk about money, just says the thing about being a host, when Volkov doesn’t look like he’s going to let him take the bill.

“Okay,” Volkov says, “But next time I pay.”

David will have to ask Kurmazov for somewhere cheaper, maybe. It isn’t until they’ve parted ways, getting in separate cabs, that David realises he’s planning for the next time instead of trying to get out of it.


End file.
